


Written on my heart

by Craftybadger1234



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Don't copy to another site, Frottage, M/M, POV Third Person, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, magic sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27876790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftybadger1234/pseuds/Craftybadger1234
Summary: You're born with your soulmate's first words in black on your palm. They fade to silver when you hear them.Simon's palm is empty and his roommate is a git. A git that needs help finding his mother's killer.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 13
Kudos: 119
Collections: Winter Holiday Collection 2020





	Written on my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AoiHerondale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoiHerondale/gifts).



> This was written as a secret santa exchange! I had to write a soulmate fic b/c that's my favorite trope. 
> 
> Thanks to @seducing-a-vampire (tumblr) for all the beta help—most especially looking things up so I could get canon details right, but also grammar and the little clarifications. It was fun working with you!
> 
> And thanks to CleopatraIsMyName for also reading through it for one last set of eyes and Brit-picking. You are, as ever, a true gem!
> 
> I'm super impatient, so our boys are gonna get to fucking around pretty quickly. They can work out their shit another time.
> 
> Also, there's a small mention of Simon getting beat up by an older kid while in foster care, and the incident being documented with photos. It's not described in any detail at all, just mentioned. Wanted to let you know in case you are sensitive to that sort of thing.

Simon always took note of new introductions, even though his palm had been blank for years. Something in him longed to hear that connection with another soul. Once, he’d been introduced to a new foster mother and she’d called him Snow. But she already had silver words (and forty years on him). Teachers at school frequently began with “Snow, Simon” when addressing him from their lists. But it was never anyone his age. Never anyone he could pretend was his. 

So when the magic of the Crucible dragged him towards the grumpy, grey boy he was to room with, he couldn’t help but jolt internally when the boy sneered, “Snow.”

It wasn’t wholly unexpected that this boy knew his name. The Mage said everyone knew about him after that massive burst of magic in August. But most people referred to him by his entire name. _Simon Snow_ they whispered in awed, trembling tones. This boy’s first word to him was just _Snow_.

As his palm once told him his soulmate would say.

But his soulmate died years ago and there was no reason for his heart to flutter with longing this way. The Crucible’s magic made his stomach churn, demanding they acknowledge one another. He held out an impatient hand. “Yeah,” he said, waggling his hand for good measure. “Here.”

Immediately the grey boy’s gloved hand grasped his and they both inhaled sharply as the Crucible’s magic sealed them together. The other boy stared at their joined hands for a moment, then let go as though burned. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away from Simon.

\--------

Everyone in the dining hall startled when the doors slammed open.

Trust Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch to be the biggest prat alive, first by torturing Simon with a six week absence, and then by returning with such a high level of drama. That fucking _smirk_ on his face as he looked at Simon, and then Agatha. He casually sat with Niall and Dev as though Simon’s world wasn’t spinning out of control.

“Sit down,” Penelope whispered. “You look like you’re about to attack.”

And indeed, Simon had very nearly called up the Sword of Mages. He fell awkwardly into his seat, keeping an eye on Baz. Although he did dart a look at Agatha, sitting across the dining hall, and she didn’t look too pleased with Baz’s return. 

That had to be something. He still had hope (even if it was foolish hope) that he could get back together with Agatha somehow.

“Where do you think he’s been? He looks like shit. And why was he limping?”

Penelope sighed at her plate. “I don’t know, Simon. Just like I didn’t know for these past six weeks. Go over and ask him.”

Simon scrunched up his face and hurriedly finished eating. Baz had to return to their room at some point, and so that seemed the best place to wait. He wished Penny a good night and left the dining hall, staring at Baz even if he didn’t look up at Simon once.

It was nearly midnight when Baz finally arrived. Simon sat up in bed demanding, “Where have you been?”

“The Catacombs, saying hello to my—”

“Not tonight. Before. Where have you been the last six weeks? And why do you look like—” Simon gestured to indicate Baz’s haggard appearance.

“It’s none of your business, Snow. Fuck off, I’m ready for bed.”

Simon wanted to press the issue, but Baz looked dead on his feet. Which, considering he was dead already, was really saying something. 

At least now, Simon could keep an eye on him. 

\--------

Magic gave Simon the sense of belonging he’d lost along with his soul words. 

Foster homes always took him in reluctantly, as though at five years old he’d murdered his soulmate and might do them in next. They passed him from place to place like a cursed object no one knew how to contain or destroy.

The Mage had taken a look at Simon’s blank palm and nodded decisively. “Excellent. A powerful mage such as yourself can’t be distracted by something as mundane as _true love_.” His mocking tone about love made Simon skeptical when he noticed the Mage also had a blank palm. Had he lost his soulmate, or never had one to begin with?

Regardless, it was the first time anyone had told him to look at his empty palm with any sort of hope. Agatha, who had always had an empty palm, found his blank palm charming. Enough so that in fifth year when Simon asked her out, she happily said yes. 

And even better that it seemed to put Baz in a foul mood. 

Clearly Baz wanted Agatha for himself, and Simon never got tired of rubbing it in his face that this beautiful, elegant angel belonged to Simon. Even when it resulted in Baz punching him so hard that Simon fell down the stairs. 

Things never seemed to go smoothly between Baz and Simon after that (not that they were ever truly smooth before). Their continued rivalry irritated Agatha, what with the Humdrum trying to kill Simon all the time.

“You don’t need to be attacked on _two_ fronts, Simon!” she insisted.

But she was worth this petty rivalry. Sure, getting locked out of the castle and harassed by snow devils sucked, but let Baz play his silly games. He was all alone, while Simon had Agatha. 

The silver _yeah_ on Baz’s palm blended into his grey skin, but not enough that Simon couldn’t see it. How telling that his soulmate hadn’t stuck around.

Baz, the great git, deserved his loneliness.

\--------

It took Simon entirely too long to remember the ghostly visit of Natasha Grimm-Pitch.

“My mother visited _you_?” Baz asked indignantly.

“Er, yeah. Said she was called here or whatever. I guess with this being your room and all… it was the closest she could find since you were… where again?”

Baz looked startled for a moment, then flipped him two fingers and refused to say. “And she really thinks we can find her killer?”

“If we find this Nicodemus, sure.”

“We’re going to have to do some research.”

\--------

Simon knew he didn’t process things very well. No one ever taught him to think ahead, to plan for the future, or worry about what might come next. His entire life was reaction to an immediate threat, one right after another.

In March of seventh year, someone had tampered with his wand. _Someone_ that couldn’t be identified. But surely it was Basil, the great git that wanted Simon’s girlfriend. Simon ended up in the infirmary and he didn’t appreciate Agatha acting like it was Simon’s own fault.

“You tend to attract this sort of thing, now don’t you?” Then she sighed with weary resignation, “I don’t know how long we can do this, Simon.”

And if he’d looked at it more carefully, thought about it a little more, he might have been better prepared for when she flat out told him at the beginning of eighth year, “I can’t do this anymore. It’s over.”

How could she leave him? He’d already lost his soulmate, and he might lose his life before this was all over. Didn’t he deserve this little slice of happiness for what little time he had left? Or the potential future with someone he could love if he happened to survive?

But then Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s spirit appeared to him, and he had other things to worry about.

\--------

It didn’t take long to convince Baz they should enlist Penelope’s help. She joined them in their room after dinner that night, and of course she demanded they start with a list. “What do you remember about that day?” She drew two lines down the centre of her paper and labeled the two columns ‘what we know’ and ‘what we don’t know.’

Baz rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Not much, honestly. Playing with the other kids. A commotion outside the door. Then—it felt like a hundred vampires flooded the nursery, but there were probably only two or three? Loads of fire. I don’t know. There was a sharp pain in my neck and… Next thing I knew I woke up… different... in Hampshire.”

A tiny stab of guilt hit Simon at the drawn look on Baz’s face. Perhaps making him recite details of the day he and his mother died wasn’t the kindest route they could take. “We should look in the Record,” Simon said. “See what it says. Maybe that’ll jog your memory. And maybe it’ll mention Nicodemus too.”

“Good idea Simon. That’s an excellent place to start,” Penny said, making a few quick notes on her paper. “What was the date? I’ll pull back issues of the Record and bring them with me tomorrow.”

Baz nodded and said evenly, “It was the twelfth of August. Two thousand-two.”

And all of Simon’s life flashed before his eyes.

The pain in his palm at five years old, his soulmark disappearing on that exact date. The grim look of his foster parents. The afternoon spent with a syrupy woman explaining that some flowers bloomed in pairs, while others bloomed all by themselves.

The Crucible, and Baz’s silver words. Were they Simon’s? What did he say to Baz that day they met? Did Baz’s palm burn as his word changed from black to silver? What would an eleven year old boy think about being paired with another boy?

And a wreck like Simon to boot.

“What... what—did you—just say.” Simon forced the words past his clenched teeth. His fingers began to tingle and sweat gathered at his brow.

Penny and Baz looked up from her notes and did matching doubletakes as they scrambled to their feet.

“Simon,” Penny said softly, holding her hands out as if that might placate him. “Simon, you need to calm down.”

He shook his head violently as the tide of magic in him rose higher and higher. “That’s why she came here, isn’t it? Your mother.” The edges of his vision grew hazy and indistinct. Simon pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Fuck,” he hissed.

“Simon,” Penny pleaded. “If you go off in here, you’ll kill us both.”

“She couldn’t find you. So she found the next best thing.” He dropped his hands and focused the full force of his rage on Baz. “Your soulmate.”

“Simon…”

“Is it true?” Simon growled. “ _Is it true_?! Am I your soulmate?”

Baz shoved Penny, his eyes focused on Simon. “You should go, Bunce.”

“But… Simon…”

“Go!” the boys yelled in unison. Penny fumbled for the doorknob behind her and made her escape.

Simon closed the distance between them, not even pausing when Baz cried, “Anathema!” and cringed against the wall. Simon pressed his hands to the wall on either side of Baz’s head instead of crushing him. With Baz slumped against the wall, they were the same height.

Simon rubbed his cheek against Baz’s cold cheek. “Is it true?” he whispered. “Are you mine?”

Baz laid a hand on Simon’s chest. It rested there for a moment, focusing Simon’s thoughts until the magic in him cooled to a more manageable level. He pushed Simon back, then flipped his hand palm up. They looked at the silver word.

_yeah_

“Is… is that what I said?”

“That first night, by the Crucible… I called you by name—”

“Snow. You called me Snow.”

“And you said ‘Yeah' and 'here.’” His grey eyes met Simon’s. “I felt it burning as I took your hand.”

Simon took a step back, then another. The tide of his magic began to recede, leaving him weary. He sat clumsily on his bed and dropped his head in his hands. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well… I was dead. And I couldn’t have you asking why.”

It had been years since Basilton made him cry. But thirteen years of loneliness combined with seven years of antagonism at the hands of this one fucking git made Simon’s tears burn and overflow. Juddering sobs tore through him, too heavy to smother or will away.

The bed dipped as Baz sat next to him. “Here,” he whispered, holding out a handkerchief to Simon. 

He laughed wetly as he took it. Stupid, posh handkerchief. It had the family crest embroidered on it, just like the one he threw at Simon in second year. He’d made Simon cry then too, with talk of how no one wanted Simon and he would end up alone.

“You fucking arse. You—you—” The words seized in his throat as his magic burned once again. Oh fuck, was that smoke? “I can’t believe you! All this time? Fuck!” Simon got to his feet and almost fell as the floor seemed to pitch underneath him. “I can’t stay here.”

He nearly tore the door from its hinges in his haste to get away.

Simon tried burning off his excess magic by floating rocks with **up, up, and away**. But he had an endless well to draw from, and his agitation made the rocks fly erratically. Instead he lay in the grass behind White Chapel, staring at the stars and wondering what his next move should be.

Penelope would tell him to make a list.

1\. Throw fire at Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch and watch him burn up like flash paper. This would only be _temporarily_ satisfying, and rather depressing long term as it would leave him truly alone. So probably a ‘no’ on that one. He mentally crossed it off with a sigh.

2\. Pretend like nothing happened. He and Baz rarely spoke anyway, continuing to ignore each other might be possible. Except for the work that needed doing to solve Natasha’s murder. Work that needed doing together. Ignoring the situation would be impossible. 

3\. Acknowledge something happened, but insist it changed nothing between them. They’d never got along before, and there was no reason to think they should magically start now. Although the reason they’d fought so much was Baz’s need to protect his vampire secret. By the time Simon found out for certain, the habit had already formed. And Simon had Agatha back then. Everything was different now. Simon didn’t trust his ability to continue antagonising the other boy, not with the knowledge he now held.

4\. Focus on finding Natasha’s killer, and worry about soulmates later. One thing at a time. That had always been Simon’s method. Put out one fire, then the next, and the next. Two fires at once took too much planning (never his strong suit). He could put this off until later. He imagined sitting in the library, researching Nicodemus and the day Baz was Turned. The day his soulmate died, but not really. No, impossible. There was no way to put this discussion off until later. This knowledge was going to bounce around in his brain until he properly put it to rest.

5\. Snog Basilton’s face off. 

He got to his feet and brushed grass off his clothing as he started walking back to Mummer’s House, not even pretending he was going to talk himself out of it. His magic still thrummed in his veins and he needed an outlet. Usually his bursts of temper and adrenaline ended with monsters exploding. Without that option, he could make do with some physical activity—jogging, or a game of football. But running through the grounds at night would get him seen and in trouble.

Before, he might’ve found Agatha and fooled around with her a bit. She’d never really enjoyed kissing, but Simon loved it. He craved a connection to someone else, and the way his magic felt a little more manageable afterwards. But she was no longer an option.

His steps faltered as he considered kissing _Baz_. Should he be concerned that his soulmate was a bloke? Did that make him gay? Or was he bi, since he liked Agatha (and had admired other lovelies as well)? Did it really matter one way or the other? Despite who he might find attractive, the universe had given him Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. He mentally sighed. Those thoughts could keep to themselves to worry about another day.

Right now he wanted to collect on seven years of neglect.

He took the stairs two at a time, and threw the door open with a crash. Baz’s violin screeched as the bow scraped across the strings.

“Snow,” Baz said softly.

Just one word. It shouldn’t mean much of anything at all. And yet, it sliced through Simon and left him frozen, staring at Baz for one long second after another. It felt like the first time, a new beginning.

Simon swallowed heavily. “Yeah,” he responded just as softly, afraid of shattering this gentle moment. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged sheepishly.

Baz set his violin in the case on his desk. Simon shuffled forward until his trainers bumped into Baz’s stockinged feet. Baz turned to him, holding his breath and waiting. Waiting, perhaps, to see if Simon tore him apart or let it go.

With a slow, tentative hand, Simon tucked a lock of shiny, black hair behind Baz’s ear. His finger trailed down, along Baz’s neck to the collar of his shirt. Curling his fingers into the material, Simon tugged Baz in for a kiss.

Baz made a startled sound, and rested a hand on Simon’s chest. To push Simon away? Then he growled and nipped at Simon’s lips, his hand sliding down Simon’s chest and around his waist. He sucked lightly at Simon’s tongue, and grazed it with his teeth to _almost_ bite him. Fucking hell, where did Baz learn to kiss like this? Simon met him moan for moan, bite for bite. It figured their first kiss would almost seem like a fight.

Then the initial rush faded and Baz softened against him. His lips dragged lingeringly acoss Simon’s, and his tongue slid sensually in and out of Simon’s mouth. Simon thought he might be done for when Baz’s hand pressed against his arse, knocking their hips together so he could feel the hard ridge of Baz’s erection through their clothes.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Simon gasped, pressing his forehead to Baz’s. 

“Simon…” Baz whispered, nuzzling along Simon’s jaw. “Simon, what is this?”

His name. His _real_ name this time. That—more than kisses and moans—set Simon’s blood on fire past the point that he could contain it. He pushed Baz back and back, until he fell on his bed, braced on his elbows and eyes wide. 

Simon’s words tumbled over one another, trying to form a coherent sentence. “I want… Can I… Your shirt...” He straddled one of Baz’s thighs and reached for the buttons of Baz’s school shirt.

“Anything,” Baz said breathlessly, and yanked his own shirt off. He pulled Simon down before he could examine the exposed grey skin of Baz’s chest. His hands, cool and sure, slid up Simon’s back, rucking his shirt up in the process. Simon sat up to pull his own shirt off, fumbling with the buttons like a fool. He expected Baz to laugh at him, but instead he got another searing kiss and a hard tug at the fabric that freed him entirely. He heard a button or two bounce to the floor, but Simon couldn’t care about that at all. 

Not when Baz’s arms wrapped around him so tightly. Not when Baz’s teeth and tongue wreaked such wicked havoc with his senses. Not when Baz’s cool body absorbed the heat pouring off Simon.

“Crowley, Snow, you are—”

“Call me Simon.”

“Ah, Simon…” Baz moaned, arching his hips up into Simon once again.

Simon ground down against him, eager for the friction that sent his arousal spiralling ever higher. His magic swirled around and through it in a thick whirlpool that ultimately slipped from Simon’s control completely. 

Thick tendrils of magic seeped out of Simon and into the trembling body in his arms. He felt it filling Baz, making him burn as hotly as Simon ever did. Baz gave a garbled yell and his whole body went taut as a bowstring. Frantically he frotted against Simon, panting into his mouth and chanting Simon’s name with a reverence Simon had never heard before. Certainly not from Basilton.

It launched his magic into its crescendo along with his arousal and he was coming, and coming, and _coming_. Waves of adrenaline and pleasure coursed through his body until he collapsed on Baz, now eerily quiet.

Bit by bit he reined his magic in until everything settled back into place. He’d never felt so still, so peaceful, so spent. All too often his magic exploded and made him black out completely, until he woke up disorientated and unbalanced. This was a feeling he could get used to, assuming Baz agreed.

“Baz, are you—”

“Shh…” Baz’s hand fumbled along Simon’s face, trying to cover his mouth. “So good… I’m burning… Just shh…”

His slurred, broken words had Simon sitting up in alarm. Baz’s eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, his pupils so wide that Simon couldn’t even see the deep silver of his irises. He took Baz’s hand and kissed his fingers, resting his head on Baz’s pillow and carding his fingers through Baz’s hair. Baz curled into him and nuzzled his cheek and along his jaw.

In minutes, they both fell asleep.

\--------

Simon stretched and yawned as he slowly emerged from a deeper sleep than any he’d ever experienced. No nightmares of dragons and flames, no excess heat smothering him. Just peaceful rest for once. He frowned at the strange configuration of the room, before realising he was still in Baz’s bed instead of his own.

Baz’s empty bed.

Odd as it was for Baz to wake up before him, it was even more so for him to be dressed and gone already. Why didn’t he wait for Simon? Didn’t he want to talk about… everything?

Simon stripped off his trousers and soiled pants with a grimace. Weren’t the days of coming in his pants supposed to be over? At least he did his own laundry now and no one (except Baz) would ever know. They could have done with an **out, out damn spot** before falling asleep. He’d try and remember that for next time.

Because there would definitely be a next time.

Simon had never come so hard in his life and would do anything to reach that level of calm and control over his magic again. Even make a true peace with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

His soulmate.

Freshly showered and dressed, Simon went to breakfast with a skip in his step, determined to find out why Baz left him so early this morning. They had shit to work out; they couldn’t avoid each other forever.

But Basil did his best to try. He didn’t make eye contact when Simon came in, and had surrounded himself with enough people that Simon couldn’t sit with him without disturbing half their classmates’ breakfast. As Simon passed him on the way to the food line, he brushed his hand along Baz’s shoulders. Baz froze, but otherwise left the touch unacknowledged.

Simon piled his plate high with food, and sat in his usual spot with Penny. Unlike Baz, she eagerly launched into a conversation with Simon.

“Is Basil your soulmate? What did he say? What happened with you two last night?”

Simon stuffed a whole scone into his mouth to avoid having to say anything. He hadn’t thought of what he should tell Penny and needed time to put it all together. She poured him a cup of tea to wash the scone down before he choked on it.

“He calls you ‘Snow’ all the time—was that what he said when you met? Just like your palm used to say?” She batted his hand as he reached for a second scone. “Stop stalling and tell me things!”

“Yes, he did,” Simon sighed. “And also, I’ll have you know, I’m not _stalling_ , I’m _starving_.” He couldn’t hold back his grin. “I burned quite a few calories last night.”

“Are you—” Penny’s mouth dropped open comically. “Are you implying that you and Baz… You and _Baz_... last night?!”

He shrugged and buttered a second scone.

“You can’t be serious right now! Seven years at each other’s throats and in one day you’ve set that all aside to—to—” she gestured vaguely with a grimace.

“I wouldn’t say we’ve ‘set it aside,’ more like we took advantage of our temporary truce.” When she continued to glare, Simon said, “My magic kept rising and falling and it was chaotic and all of it was just too much. And things happened that I can’t really regret. But yeah, we’ve still got things to work out.”

“Fine, so long as you’re not going to ignore the issues between you completely.”

“One step at a time, Penelope. I just found out yesterday!”

“He’s known since the beginning?”

Simon sighed at his scone, “Yeah.” He looked at Baz across the dining hall, laughing with Dev about something. Hopefully not something about Simon, the great git.

Thankfully Penny dropped the subject so Simon could eat in peace. Halfway through his second plate, Baz, Dev, and Niall bussed their plates and started to leave. Simon said to Penny, “I’ll be right back,” and hurried after them. Just outside the dining hall doors, Simon grabbed Baz’s wrist, “Baz, wait.”

Yanking his wrist from Simon’s grasp, Baz said curtly, “Snow. What do you want?”

“I thought we agreed you’d call me Simon now.”

Baz rolled his eyes. “What do you _want_?”

“I—we—need to talk.” Nerves thickened his tongue and he didn’t know what to say in front of Dev and Niall. How much did they know? And did he want to talk in front of them?

“Yes well, we have lessons to get to.” Baz smoothed his school tie unnecessarily and turned away. “Perhaps this afternoon.”

He avoided Simon in their lessons and surrounded himself with friends for lunch as well. When Simon tried to catch him before dinner, Baz neatly sidestepped him with a music lesson (even though Simon didn’t remember Baz ever having music lessons on a Thursday afternoon). After dinner Baz disappeared to the Catacombs, and Simon let him have his privacy there. If Baz needed to talk to his mother (or drain a few rats), then Simon didn’t want to interfere.

But Baz couldn’t avoid him forever when they shared the same room. If he thought Simon was just going to fall asleep alone, he had another think coming. With Basil gone, Simon rearranged the room as he saw fit. He moved the small end table between their beds so he could push them together in the centre of the room, under the window. He took a chance on **if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em** , and smiled when the two beds became one large bed. Baz was going to lose his shit when he saw it, but he deserved it for ignoring Simon all day.

Simon changed into his pyjama bottoms (his habit of wearing no pyjama shirt must have driven Baz insane) (or at least he hoped so) and decided to sleep on Baz’s side of the bed, for maximum annoyance. It seemed to work when Baz snuck in a few hours later and halted at the end of the bed for nearly two whole minutes. Then he heard Baz sigh and quietly get ready for bed.

Baz tried to sleep on the very edge, as far from Simon as he could get, but Simon would have none of that. He cosied up behind Baz, snaking an arm around his waist to keep him from rolling off the bed entirely.

“Get the fuck off me, Snow,” Baz growled, now that he knew Simon wasn’t really sleeping.

“Call me Simon. You called me Simon before.”

“That was a mistake. Last night was a mistake. All of it—just one big, fucked up mistake.”

“Hmph. Maybe.” Simon shifted his legs to tangle with Baz’s. He nuzzled the back of his neck and laid his hand atop Baz’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “But one I’m willing to repeat.”

Baz elbowed Simon as he untangled himself to leap from the bed. “Listen Snow—”

“Simon!” he yelled over whatever Baz wanted to say. “My name is Simon!”

“Yes, well, _Snow_ is your name as well and it gives us some boundaries. Boundaries that we can really use right now.” Baz crossed his arms (over a shirt, Simon distantly noted), and glared. Or at least Simon assumed he was glaring. The darkness made it hard for Simon to see those details, although Baz’s vampire eyes probably saw him clear as a bell. “We aren’t friends, we aren’t lovers, we’re barely anything at all. And whatever game you think you’re playing by smashing our beds together… well it’s bullshit _Snow_ , and we’re not ready for it.”

Simon locked his jaw and nodded jerkily as he climbed from the bed. He found his wand and jiggled it in his hand nervously before whispering, “ ** _Let’s go halfsies_** ,” at the bed. It didn’t split quite down the middle, but close enough. Simon climbed over the smaller one, and shoved the larger bed towards the wall his bed usually rested against. “There. You can have that one.” 

This left him with the dual annoyances of sleeping on a smaller bed on Baz’s side of the room, but it was too late to bother with now. And anyway, Simon didn’t think his raw emotions could handle it. He tucked himself in, giving Baz his back and doing his best to calm his racing thoughts. But Baz’s words circled round and round, giving him no peace.

“ _Your name. Snow is your name as well. Snow. Your name. Simon Snow. Snow is your name as well._ "

He curled up into a tighter and tighter ball, fighting the tears that burned in his eyes. At eighteen years old he shouldn’t be crying over something so fucking stupid and childish. The burn in his eyes spread down his throat, deep into his core and out to the tips of his fingers. He drew in a shuddering breath as quietly as he could because he didn’t want Baz to hear.

As if the fucking vampire he roomed with couldn’t hear every last beat of his heart.

“Simon,” Baz said quietly, kneeling behind him. He buried a hand in Simon’s curls, gently massaging his scalp. “Simon, you have to calm down. You’re starting to smoke.”

It registered somewhere in Simon that his magic had welled up along with his tears and he didn’t have time to even attempt taking control of it. Instead of trying, he shoved Baz away, and ran out the door.

Damn the consequences, he thought as he ran down the stairs and out the front door of Mummer’s House. If he had to spend the entire night running to burn the excess magic off, so be it.

\--------

Simon kept a look-out in the morning, to be sure Baz went to breakfast and wasn’t waiting to ambush him when he returned to their room to shower and dress for the day. He only encountered two other boys on his way back to his room, and both gave him odd stares for tramping around Mummer’s House in damp, grass stained pyjama bottoms.

But he was Simon Snow and weird was par for the course for him, so they shrugged it off and moved on.

As he expected, lessons were a disaster. Magic leaked from him fairly steadily, making all his spells erratic and either worthless or dangerous. Not to mention the way it made everyone else droopy and unfocused around him. Finally Ms Possibelf pulled him aside and suggested he try and get some rest.

He took her advice, tugging his tie off as he trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but Baz had fixed the beds. Both were the same size, and in their proper place with the end table between them under the window. For reasons unknown, Simon switched their pillows before collapsing on his bed. He inhaled deeply of the cedar and bergamot scent of Baz’s pillow and closed his eyes.

The sound of the door opening jolted him awake. He almost fell out of bed, and hurriedly tried summoning his sword.

“Easy,” Baz’s smooth voice said, “it’s just me.”

Simon sat down, rubbing at his face and hair. “You woke me up,” he grumbled, settling into bed once more. He stiffened when Baz laid down behind him.

“Budge up,” Baz said. “You’re hogging all the space.”

“It’s my bed, I can hog it all I want.” Despite his whining, Simon shifted enough to let Baz spoon up behind him. “Get in your own fucking bed.”

“You missed breakfast _and_ lunch.”

“I know how to be hungry.”

“Snow, you great fucking numpty…” Baz sighed heavily and turned onto his back. “Penelope Bunce will have my bollocks for a handbag if you aren’t at dinner.”

“Blames you, does she?”

“She’s no fool.”

“No, she isn’t.”

Silence settled over them, a silence Simon had no interest in breaking. His emotions, never stable at the best of times, had been stretched to the breaking point. And he was tired of crying because of Baz. He could only hope Baz grew tired enough to give up and leave Simon in peace a little longer.

But no, Baz sighed and spooned Simon again. His right hand ran up Simon’s forearm, turning Simon’s hand palm up. His thumb traced over the blank space. “I wish I could have seen it,” he said quietly. He held his own palm next to Simon’s and Simon couldn’t help but stare at the silvery _yeah_ printed in the centre.

“There are pictures. In my file.” His words came out thick and wet, and he knew tears were not far behind. Hadn’t foster care toughened him up more than this? Perhaps, but no one ever got under his skin like Basil did.

“Maybe not today… but when you’re ready… Will you tell me what it was like when it faded away?”

And just like that, the dam broke. Simon curled up tighter and buried his face in his pillow as the first tremors tore through him. He cradled his head, trying to hide from the idiot boy right behind him.

Or rather, crawling over him to settle against the wall. He pulled Simon in close, tucking his face into Baz’s neck. “It’s all right, Simon.”

“It’s not—all right!” Simon sobbed, mentally cursing when his words cracked in the middle. “My soulmate’s—an _arsehole_!”

“No way! So’s mine!” Baz said, rubbing circles down Simon’s back. “We match,” he whispered. 

Simon choked on a laugh and wiped his tears away on Baz’s shirt. A few more shuddering sighs escaped, but gradually the tremors subsided. When he could breathe evenly again, he went to the bathroom to rinse his face with cold water.

He did his best to box away the turbulent emotions. Not thinking about difficult things was a special skill of his, and he could certainly make use of that skill right now. His confidence dropped when he emerged from the bathroom to see that Baz had neatened his own clothing and hair. Now Simon felt rumpled and even more worn. Should he change out of the uniform he’d cried and slept in?

In a creepy ‘reading his mind’ sort of way, Baz said, “You know, it’s Friday afternoon, we don’t have to wear our uniforms anymore.”

“I like my uniform,” Simon said self-consciously, trying to smooth the wrinkles of his shirt. “It fits.”

Baz tilted his head consideringly, and Simon wished he’d phrased things a little differently. He didn’t really want to talk about the secondhand clothing he’d been given that never quite fit. Thankfully Baz didn’t question it and instead waggled his wand at Simon, “May I?”

It didn’t seem likely that Baz would hurt him. Not only did the Anathema protect him, they had a soul bond. If he hurt Simon, he’d only be hurting himself in the long term. Simon shrugged, and then nodded reluctantly.

“ ** _Fresh as a daisy_** ,” Baz said evenly. Simon’s shirt lost its wrinkles and once again returned to its crisp, freshly laundered state.

“Thank you,” Simon said quietly.

Baz stowed his wand and with clipped words asked, “Shall we go to dinner?”

“If only so Penny doesn’t show up here.”

“It shouldn’t even be _possible_ ,” Baz said indignantly, making Simon laugh. How Penny snuck into Mummer’s House was one of life’s greatest mysteries.

Now that he’d solved the mystery of his soulmate.

They walked together to dinner in awkward silence. What did one say to their nemesis-turned-soulmate after _years_ of antagonism and misunderstandings? After sharing kisses more heated than anything Simon could have imagined. And an orgasm so intense it realigned the universe around him. What did he say to this boy he no longer knew how to hate, but didn’t quite like yet?

Penny’s eyes widened when Baz followed Simon to their table. From across the dining hall, Simon noticed Agatha narrowing her eyes at the new seating arrangement. For a second or two, it looked like she might join them, but then she settled back in their seat. She’d developed a nose for identifying a plot in the works and already made clear she wanted no part in any of that anymore.

“I’m glad you’re both here,” Penny said. Simon froze, worried she might bring up their soul bond and try to pick apart every detail of it. But instead she said, “I think we should go to the library after dinner.”

“Research?” Simon sighed.

“There’s a lot of information around the Watford Tragedy, and I can’t do it all by myself.”

“Then to the library we’ll go.”

But as it turned out, Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s death proved impossible for Simon to focus on anymore. While Penny and Baz pored over each article and jotted down phrases of import, Simon’s memories tumbled through him, throwing out images he’d long thought buried and forgotten. They churned without context, completely untethered now that he knew his soulmate didn’t actually die that day.

Sitting still in the hard library chair made his skin crawl. Just for an excuse to move around, Simon gathered a stack of old newspapers and offered to put them back. Penny murmured a thank you, while Baz watched with hooded eyes as Simon walked away. 

Kneeling on the floor of the archives, Simon neatened the stacks of newspapers and tried to see if there were any others that might be of use to Penny and Baz. It didn’t surprise him when Baz appeared a minute later.

“You seem unsettled.”

“Mm, well spotted of you,” Simon said, rolling his eyes. He stood so that Baz wouldn’t be towering over him. “I don’t know how you do it—read all about your mother dying like… like she was anyone or no one. Doesn’t this upset you?”

“Of course it does! But it was a long time ago, and it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

Afraid of what his face might reveal, Simon turned away and absently dragged his finger along the musty spines of old bound magazines. “I might have said the same, if you’d asked me a week ago.” 

“Is it so bad? That I lived?” Baz asked, stepping close enough to share Simon’s body heat. He placed a cold hand on the base of Simon’s spine and rested his chin on Simon’s shoulder. “Tell me about it?” he asked, his words muffled against the cotton fabric.

Simon inhaled deeply as he tried sorting the memories in proper order. “Erm… well… it burned. Like fire. We were playing tag in the garden and I just started crying and screaming. It was like someone scraped off the top layers of skin. Mrs Langley—the foster mother—she fetched some ice, but… it wasn’t a real pain.”

Baz’s hand curled around his waist and the cool length of him pressed against Simon’s back. The oppressive heat building in him drained away, helping him to focus. 

“She took me first to the hospital, but of course there was nothing they could do. My case worker came. There was a—a woman whose name I don’t remember. A child psychologist. She tried explaining what it meant. That my soulmate was gone now, but I shouldn’t worry about it because sometimes that just happened. Some flowers bloom in pairs, others bloom alone.”

“That’s wretched advice for a five year old.”

“I wonder if it doesn’t happen to children very often.” Simon sighed, and moved out of Baz’s arms. “It wasn’t just that day, Basil. It was all the ones that followed.” He moved along the shelf of books, tapping spines at random. “The care homes that didn’t really want someone like me. Without a soulmate, without a tether, I was a loose cannon. The sheer number of times I was moved because of it…” Simon shook his head. “It made it difficult to make friends. Everyone was always suspicious and wary of my empty palm…” 

The heat returned, prickling along Simon’s skin and making his magic bubble and roil inside. Seeking comfort, he returned to Baz, crowding him close until his arms came around Simon. He rested his head on Baz’s shoulder, letting the scent of cedar and bergamot relax him in some weird play at aromatherapy. 

“That date is always hard for me,” Simon said softly. “Even if I told myself I was over it. I mean, how long does a person grieve over someone they’ve never even met? And by then, no one wanted me anyway… it felt like my soulmate would have rejected me too, so what did I care if that ugly cow died early?” He sniffed and pulled away to wipe his nose, smiling sheepishly at the ground. “Sorry, I never really considered it would be a bloke.”

“A fair assumption. It took me by surprise too.”

Simon nodded at the bookshelf, afraid to read Baz’s expression. “Then I had a really bad summer. In two months I was moved through two different juvenile centres and two private care homes. I’d just been placed in a _third_ facility and this kid… he wouldn’t lay off about my empty palm. And the timing was just absolute _shit_.” He ruffled his curls and took a deep breath. “That night the nightmares were so bad, it set my magic off for the very first time.”

His eyes met Baz’s at last. Molten silver, and brimming with the very sadness that tore through Simon. Baz reached for Simon’s hand and laced their fingers together.

“The Mage found me three days later. Told me I was special, valuable, _Chosen_. Is it any wonder I’d slay a dragon because he told me to?”

Baz inhaled sharply and the first few tears fell. Simon dragged his thumb across Baz’s cheekbone and kissed each damp cheek. A small part of him wanted to twist the knife—to mention the Crucible, Baz’s rejection, and all the tiny ways they’d widened the rift between them. But what purpose would that serve? 

He buried his hand in the thick black hair at Baz’s nape and kissed the tender skin just below his ear. Baz tilted his head back with a soft sigh, giving Simon better access. He delighted in the glistening bite marks blooming against Baz’s grey skin. And the way his cool skin warmed with each touch of Simon’s burning lips and fingers. Baz’s hips rolled against Simon, and the burgeoning erection he felt through their clothes gave Simon a heady rush. 

“Ah, Snow… you are a dream…”

And in a snap, the cloud of arousal evaporated. Simon grasped Baz’s jaw and hissed in his ear, “My _name_ is _Simon_.” He shoved Baz back, making him stumble and nearly fall, then stomped away in a hazy fog of building rage and lingering arousal.

He escaped to the Wavering Wood for another restless night spent alone.

\--------

Simon should have planned his sulk a little better, because now he had to try and get a shower and clean clothes on a Saturday morning when Baz had literally nowhere to go and could lie in wait in their room for the entire day. Especially if he had Dev and Niall to bring him breakfast. Admitting defeat, Simon climbed the stairs to their tower room and steeled himself for the discussion to come.

But if Basilton had learned anything in the last seven years of living with Simon, it was how to needle him the most with a minimal amount of effort. He sat at his desk, scribbling in a notebook with a textbook open next to him, and ignored Simon entirely.

What a great, fucking git.

Of course the peace only lasted long enough for Simon to let his guard down. He came out of the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, to find Baz sitting on Simon’s bed with arms crossed and a serious look on his face. Simon sighed and threw his dirty clothes (mostly) in his laundry hamper. “I take it you want to talk now?”

“Well I _wanted_ to talk to you last night, but after your little temper tantrum and disappearance, you made that sort of impossible.”

“Temper tantrum?!” Simon spluttered indignantly. “Why are you such an arse? I’m the injured party here!”

Baz got to his feet and crowded Simon back a step or two. “And I can’t exactly offer a little comfort if you’re off sulking, now can I?”

The sudden left turn of the conversation threw Simon for a loop. “What—what kind of comfort?”

A lazy grin drew Simon’s eye and the adrenaline rushing through him morphed into liquid fire that made him feel like he could sprout wings and fly.

“It’s come to my attention,” Baz whispered against the shell of Simon’s ear, “that we’re not very good at talking.” His hand curled around Simon’s hip and squeezed. Cool lips grazed Simon’s neck and Baz’s tongue darted out to taste the pulse beating just above his collarbone.

“Yeah, I like this better than talking.” Simon threw his shirt to the bed (good thing he’d bothered to dress after his shower), while Baz began unfastening Simon’s trousers. “Are you going to…” He plucked at Baz’s shirt.

“Yes, let me just…” Between kisses, Baz stripped them both down to their pants and pushed Simon onto his bed. Why were his sheets so much nicer than Simon’s? Did he bring special ones from home? And why did he even care about the sheets right now when he had an eager, delicious mouth opening to him and a mostly-naked Baz pressed from shoulder to ankle against him?

Despite the turmoil of the last few days, Simon had a clearer head than the last time they’d shared Baz’s bed. The searing heat of Baz’s mouth contrasted directly with the chill of his skin, which didn’t seem to hold heat very well. It pulled the warmth from Simon, and kept his hands moving steadily over every inch of Baz that he could reach, eager to discover a new chill and ease it.

Baz bit Simon’s lip a little too hard, then swiped his tongue across it soothingly. Simon couldn’t help but bite back in response, earning him a delicious growl. “Where did you learn to kiss like this?” Simon asked breathlessly. 

“From you. Where else?”

Bloody fucking hell, Basilton was going to be the death of him. But in a good way for once. Simon rolled them so he covered Baz, and ran a hand down his chest to his hip. Baz’s leg curled around Simon, so he continued the caress down over Baz’s arse and along his thigh. Baz hissed when Simon squeezed (perhaps) a little too hard, reminding Simon that Baz was all too recently injured in that leg. He quickly let go with a mumbled apology.

“I like it,” Baz growled, pulling Simon’s hand back to his thigh. “Do it again.” Simon squeezed the hard line of muscle in Baz’s leg, making Baz arch his back with a moan. “Yes, fuck, just like that. You can’t hurt me.”

On some subconscious level, Simon knew a vampire could easily withstand whatever force a human dished out. But old habits die hard, and he couldn’t help but rise to the challenge Baz laid out. He bit down hard on the soft flesh of Baz’s shoulder while squeezing and moulding his hard thighs. Baz rocked harder and faster against Simon, moaning and begging for more.

“Your magic,” Baz panted. “You have hold of it?”

“Yeah?” It still swirled through him, dense and hot as always, but not in an overwhelming tide like before.

“Good.” Baz rolled them so Simon was on his back, and scraped his nails down Simon’s chest. He kissed along the pink scratches, making tiny detours at the moles and freckles he encountered along the way. He sucked hard on the soft skin just above Simon’s waistband. “Can I…?”

“You—I mean if you—you don’t have to—” Simon raised himself up on his elbows to watch with wide eyes as Baz freed his cock. 

He licked a single stripe up Simon’s hard cock and raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Simon dropped his head back with a groan. “You sexy little fuck. Why haven’t we been doing this for years?”

Baz rolled his eyes, but put his mouth to more interesting uses than answering a question that wasn’t even worth asking. He sucked lightly on the head, swirling his tongue around it and flicking it playfully. Slowly he bobbed up and down, taking more of Simon each time.

“Fucking hell, Baz… your mouth… so fucking hot…” Simon wanted to live in this wellspring of heat and desire for the rest of his life. But he could feel the end rushing up all too soon. “Baz… I can’t—I think I’m… almost… almost…”

Baz moaned and the vibrations of it traveled up Simon’s prick to the very core of him, igniting his simmering arousal into wild flames that consumed him. His hips bucked up hard as he came, which should have made him feel guilty for possibly choking Baz. But Baz pinned Simon’s hips and kept licking and sucking until he’d wrung every last drop from Simon, leaving him to melt into a puddle of spent desire.

He knew he should offer to help Baz, but his limbs weighed too heavily to move. No matter, Baz sat up, shuffling forward and shoving his own pants to his thighs. He pumped furiously at his cock, while his eyes roamed rapidly over Simon’s body. As his come streaked across Simon’s chest, Baz’s head fell back and Simon got to see the pink flush blooming across the grey skin of Baz’s cheeks, throat, and chest. 

It crossed Simon’s mind that it should probably be strange or gross or weird to have another man’s release cooling on him. But the reality of it didn’t bother him. He rather enjoyed the possessive way Baz regarded the mess they’d made. And he could get used to having someone to cuddle with. Baz cast **out, out damned spot** to clean Simon up, then collapsed at his side, draping an arm across Simon’s waist. 

After another wretched, sleepless night, followed by another shattering orgasm, Simon couldn’t keep his eyes open another minute longer.

\--------

It didn’t surprise Simon to find the room empty when he awoke. He squinted at the clock, annoyed that he’d missed lunch again. Too bad he couldn’t avoid Penny—she was sure to have _words_ with him about his recent poor eating habits. As if he’d done all this on purpose!

He just needed to get back to a regular sleeping schedule, and then he wouldn’t need a nap in the middle of the day. With one last yawn and stretch, he got out of Baz’s bed (and neatened the covers, although not as well as Baz would have liked) and looked for his trainers. Maybe he could charm some lunch off Cook Pritchard before finding Baz or Penny. 

Oh wait, someone had brought him lunch already. On his desk sat a wrapped plate with two ham and cheese sandwiches, an apple, and a large brownie. What a welcome surprise. A week ago he would have credited Penny for sneaking in to deliver it. But now he grinned as he ate, imagining Basil carrying a plate up here and watching Simon while he slept. Probably embarrassing because sleeping people looked ridiculous, but sweet at the same time.

Simon brushed the last of the crumbs away and went to find Baz to thank him. He could hear a group playing football, and figured that was a good place to start. Although Baz wasn’t on the team this year, he still enjoyed the occasional practice and casual game.

He spotted Baz right away, wearing Watford purple trackies and a long sleeved t-shirt. The lingering issue with his leg seemed resolved. He didn’t have any problems kicking the football past one of his teammates, also wearing a similar practice kit. A mix of school uniforms, practice tracksuits, and blue jeans made for an odd jumble that didn’t readily divide into teams.

Simon joined Rhys and Gareth on the sidelines, sitting in the grass by Rhys’s wheelchair. “Which team is which? And who’s winning?”

“We don’t know,” Gareth said. “They were already playing when we got here and I don’t think they’re keeping score.”

“We haven’t been here long either,” Rhys added. “Glad you’re here though. Word is getting around about you.”

“Me?”

“And Basilton,” Gareth said, leaning forward eagerly. “Maisy said she saw you two snogging in the library archives yesterday and Penelope’s keeping mum about it.”

“Is it true?” Rhys asked. His excitement mirrored Gareth’s. “Did you _really_ kiss Baz?”

“How’d that even happen?”

“And more importantly, how was it?”

Their rapid-fire questions made Simon’s empty palm prickle and he leaned back on his hands to subtly scratch it in the grass. He couldn’t tell the two of them that Baz was his soulmate, because he couldn’t have them wondering why his palm was empty. It gave him a tiny peek into what Baz experienced when they first met, and the reason he put so much distance between them. He had to keep Baz safe (to keep him at all), and that meant keeping his vampirism a secret.

And so he had to share a different, less dangerous secret. “Well, you know, me and Aggie split and… I started thinking maybe I wasn’t as straight as I thought. And as it turns out… Baz isn’t as straight as I thought either.”

“Ooh, Simon, you dog!” Gareth laughed.

“Damn,” Rhys said, “I knew all those years of fighting were just unresolved sexual tension. You lucky son of a bitch. What’s it like snogging Baz?”

A flare of jealousy had Simon grinning, just to rub it in. “Let’s just say the tension has resolved itself.”

Gareth whistled and shoved at Rhys, “We’re going to have to charm our ceiling silent if they’re going to be banging it out up there.”

Simon’s mouth dropped open in shock, but was prevented from answering when Baz joined them. “Something funny here?” he asked, then gulped at his water bottle. Simon’s eyes were drawn to his bobbing Adam’s apple, and the smooth skin that no longer bore any bite marks. Damn his ability to heal quickly.

“Erm… yeah, sorry but I had to out you.”

Baz spluttered on his water, and spat it out all over the grass. Rhys and Gareth laughed uproariously at the distinctly unglamourous reaction from the typically poised Basilton.

“Sorry!” Simon laughed. “Sorry. We were caught snogging in the archives.”

“I see,” Baz said curtly. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Although Maisy said Simon stormed off after…” Gareth said, looking back and forth between them.

Rhys waggled his eyebrows at Baz, “If it’s not working out with Simon, I’d be interested in exploring this new phase you’re going through.”

“Ah Rhys, if only I’d known sooner…” Baz sighed. “Alas, the only sweet music we will make is in Orchestra.”

“Are you sure? Because I know how to work an oboe outside of class too.”

Gareth and Baz doubled over in laughter, but it annoyed Simon enough to kick at Rhys’s wheelchair. “Sod off, you, he’s mine now!”

This made Baz laugh all the harder. “Unfortunately he’s right,” he said between giggles. “But if it doesn’t work out with Snow, I’ll let you know.”

His lingering annoyance at being laughed at only grew hotter and more volatile at hearing Baz calling him _Snow_ yet again. “How come he gets to be Rhys but I’m still Snow?”

Baz’s laughter died away and his fingers whitened around his water bottle. He stared for a long minute and then said quietly, “My heart isn’t at risk with Rhys.” Then he turned on his heel and returned to the game.

“Damn, Simon,” Gareth whispered.

“Shit just got serious,” Rhys agreed.

\--------

“What complete and utter bollocks,” Simon mumbled as he threw open his wardrobe doors. “Not at risk. Not at _risk_! Ha! As if I’m not putting myself out there too!”

He dug through the pile of clothes, shoes, and random junk that gathered at the bottom of his wardrobe. “Aha!” he yelled triumphantly, pulling out a battered accordion folder tied with a string.

Sitting on his bed, he dumped the contents out over the bed and began to sort through the paperwork that had been collected over his lifetime.

_...trouble making friends… fighting again..._

_...grades are suffering..._

_...perhaps a lack of empathy... doesn’t show much remorse..._

_...trouble sleeping..._

_...attachment issues… no money in the budget for counseling..._

_...won’t discuss his new boarding school..._

None of it painted a pretty picture of Simon. On paper, he looked like a psychopath that needed locking up. Although things improved for him once he got to Watford, none of the Normals that took him in got to see that side of things. To the outside world, he was a demon that needed taming and containing. Sadly, he had to admit many in the world of mages felt the same way.

The door opening knocked him from his reverie. “Oh, you’re back.” Simon looked at the mess he’d made of papers and photographs. “I lost track of things. Did you win?”

“We don’t keep score for a casual game. But yes.” Baz wiped sweat from his forehead and gestured at the piles. “What’s all this?”

“It’s my file. I think they’re supposed to keep it for a few years, but I’m officially out of the system so… Well, I stole it.”

“You stole your file? Why?” Baz sat on the other end of the bed and pulled one of the papers closer.

Simon shrugged. “It’s all I have of my childhood. And what do they need it for?”

“ _Simon’s handwriting needs improvement but he refuses to complete the practice worksheets he is assigned_ ,” Baz read aloud with a grin. “Really? You need to keep this particular memento?"

He tried to mirror Baz’s smile, but he knew what else the file contained. And now he regretted looking through it at a time when Baz could so easily see it. He began to gather everything back up, determined to find the pictures he sought later.

But Baz moved faster than he could. “Pictures too? Of the little baby Chosen One?” He snatched up a paper with a photograph stapled behind it. His grin dissolved into a confused grimace. “What is this?” 

Simon’s throat closed up. “They, erm… have to document injuries.”

“And how the fuck does someone so small get injuries like this?” 

Simon tapped the paper. “I stole two lemon shortbread biscuits from Wilson Bartleby. And we fought over them. But he was four years older than me so… he won that one.”

“And this?”

“I think that was…” Simon squinted at the paper. “Yeah that was Peter Clarke. Our paths crossed every so often because he’s a long term care too. And… he likes to needle me about my birthday and... yeah…” He shrugged and tried to pull the paper away.

“What’s so bad about your birthday?”

“Erm, well, it’s just a guess, right? So I never liked talking about it. They think I was two weeks old when I was dropped off so they put it down as eighteenth of June but what do they know? The Mage thinks I should celebrate on the solstice because of some shit about seasons having power. But it’s just another guess so why bother?”

Baz stared at the pile with a deeper frown, sorting out the bruises and scrapes from the annual report photos. Those looked like mugshots, growing increasingly sullen as Simon aged. “This is it? These are all the photos of you from when you were little?”

“Yeah…” Simon shrugged, then lit up when the two he sought finally appeared. “Look, here. This is why I pulled it all out.”

Staring too intently at Simon, Baz reached out for the photos. His gaze softened as he looked at baby Simon, wrapped in a fuzzy knitted blanket in a little basket one might collect flowers in. Two feathery tufts of reddish curls rested on his forehead as he slept peacefully.

“That was the day they found me. Look. My mark.” He shuffled the two photos so Baz could see the second picture—someone holding his tiny baby fingers open so the miniscule words could be photographed and documented.

In two neat lines printed on his palm—

_simon_  
_snow_

Baz frowned at the picture. “I thought it was just Snow?”

“It was. Someone wrote ‘Simon’ on my palm with a felt tip pen and they thought it was all my soulmark, like an introduction. By the time Simon washed away, the paperwork had already been filed and the decision made. The name stuck.”

Baz nodded absently, holding the two photos side by side.

“Maybe Snow really is my last name. Maybe not. It doesn’t really matter now, I suppose. But someone…” He took the picture of his soulmark and ran a finger over the tiny black letters. “Someone cared about me once. Someone cared enough to be sure they called me Simon. It’s mine. My very own. And sometimes… Sometimes I think it’s the only real piece of me.”

He handed the picture back to Baz and went back to gathering all the other pictures and papers. “And now I have you. Two pieces of me. And now that I know it… I can’t bear it when you call me Snow.”

Baz threw the papers in Simon’s hands onto the bed and dragged him across the room so fast, he stumbled over his own feet and landed on Baz’s bed with a heavy, “Oomph.”

“Simon, my Simon…” Baz whispered, nuzzling against Simon’s cheek and hair. His hands smoothed the curls back from Simon’s face, and he dropped chaste kisses on Simon’s temple, over his cheeks, and lightly across his lips. “Let me take care of you.”

“Baz, I know I've been... shaky lately, but I'm not going to break at the first—”

Two cool fingers landed on Simon’s lips with a soft shushing sound. “Let me.”

Nervous and uncertain, Simon nodded anyway and let Baz have his way. How quickly eagerness and excitement drowned everything out when Baz pulled off his practice kit and smiled apologetically. “Sorry I’ve not showered…”

“It’s all right, I don’t mind,” Simon said quickly. He didn’t mind anything at all if Baz was going to undress him wearing nothing but pants. 

Baz nuzzled and kissed each exposed inch of Simon’s chest as he unbuttoned his uniform shirt, making tiny detours along the way (as he had earlier) to kiss each new mole and freckle. Simon’s cock thickened in response, and he didn’t know if he had the patience for Baz’s slow pace. Especially when he nuzzled the growing bulge and dragged his teeth along the fabric. 

He maintained eye contact as he unfastened Simon’s belt and trousers, so Simon could watch Baz’s eyes dilate as he caressed the hard line of Simon’s cock over his pants. Baz laughed at Simon shimmying out of his trousers while trapped under Baz straddling his thighs. 

“Even when you’re laughing at me,” Simon said, “I like being naked with you.”

“Especially when we’re laughing,” Baz agreed. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants. “And we’re not quite naked yet.”

Simon’s eyes widened, even as his cock throbbed. He hadn’t seen _all_ of Baz yet, not properly anyway, and had to admit he perhaps, maybe, _almost_ wanted to return the favour from this morning. He hadn’t quite made up his mind on that yet. 

Then Baz tossed aside his pants and sent a familiar smirk Simon’s way. He should probably hate the way it made his mouth water. Or maybe it was the way he lazily stroked his cock while he settled across Simon’s thighs again. “Like what you see, Simon?”

“Yes, you berk, come kiss me.” Even if Baz kept calling him Simon out of guilt or pity, Simon had to admit it was working. The unfamiliar tenderness both unsettled him and made him yearn for more. He pulled Baz in for a kiss and tentatively wrapped a hand around his hard length. Once, twice he dragged his fingers up and down, before Baz batted his hand away.

“This is for you, not for me.”

“What if ‘for me’ includes touching you?”

“One thing at a time, Simon.”

He stripped off Simon’s pants and they landed on the floor, probably right on top of Baz’s own. He smothered a laugh at the image of their pants canoodling on the floor while they did… whatever was going to happen here in Baz’s bed. Simon wanted any of it, all of it.

Baz laid half on top of Simon and ran soothing hands through his hair and over his cheeks before kissing him with an aching gentleness that both aroused and frustrated him. He wanted more and now, and yet wanted to live in the slick heat of Baz’s mouth forever. Simon caressed the smooth skin of Baz’s back and rocked gently against the hard cock pressing into his hip. 

“Did I—” Baz pressed his lips together and shifted his gaze to Simon’s pillow. “Did I do all right earlier?”

“Fishing for compliments? How very Basilton of you. You know it was brilliant.”

“Good, then it’s worth doing again.”

Simon’s breath hitched when Baz took Simon’s cock deep into his mouth. His hair tickled Simon’s thighs, so Simon tried tucking it behind Baz’s ear. But the slippery lock of hair slithered free again as Baz’s head bobbed. Each slow drag of his tongue and teeth combined with the cool slide of his fingers along Simon’s hips to send delicious shivers of arousal down Simon’s spine. 

He gripped the sheets and arched his back, gasping, “Baz… I think… You are so—how can I be so close already?”

“No, don’t,” Baz said, pulling off abruptly enough that Simon squawked in indignation. “Not yet,” he amended with a wicked smile. He leaned forward and kissed Simon lightly. Then faintly—so faintly it was almost nothing but a breath across Simon’s lips—he whispered, “I want you inside me, Simon.”

And just like that, Simon could no longer stand to be a passive participant. He rolled them so he could cover Baz and attacked his mouth with a vicious kiss that drew up all the magic he had thus far kept in check. Baz responded just as eagerly, digging his nails into the flesh of Simon’s arse and moaning into his mouth.

“Tell me you want to fuck me, Simon.”

“Fuck yes. I want exactly that.” Simon sucked hard at Baz’s neck just to watch the skin bloom red. “I don’t—I’ve never… Never done it before. I don’t know—”

“I—me either. But I think…” Baz pushed Simon away. “Let me get my wand.”

He stumbled on his way out of bed, tripping first over Simon and then their clothes strewn about the floor. Baz found his wand and hesitated, standing by his bed. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Simon said quickly. “If you want to. But I’m happy with… you know, other things instead, if you want to wait.”

Baz knelt next to Simon and kissed him lightly. He caressed Simon’s cheek, and staring straight into Simon’s eyes, whispered, “I’ve wanted you forever.”

“Lucky I’m yours, then,” he said with a half smile.

With a decisive nod, Baz pointed his wand at his groin and whispered a strand of words in French.

“What was that?” Simon asked.

“A spell.” Baz tilted his head, considering. “But I’m not sure it worked.”

“A spell for what?”

“Let me…” He repeated the words and groaned obscenely as the spell clearly took effect. “Fuck, that’s good,” he said, ducking his head to kiss Simon fervently. 

“What was that?” Simon asked again.

“It’s more-or-less ‘I take shelter in the shadow of your wings until death claims me.” He laughed and kissed the worry lines on Simon’s brow. “The little death, Simon. It’s a good thing. Keeps us safe.”

“Oh, okay, I suppose that’s nice then.”

He pointed his wand next at Simon’s fingertips. “Unfortunately we have to follow it with the plebeian **_slippery when wet_**.” A viscous gel appeared on Simon’s fingers. Baz dropped his wand to the floor and laid back with an eager grin, spreading his legs invitingly. “Take it slow at first.”

Simon bit his lip and nodded, kneeling between Baz’s thighs. It took more force than he thought it would to breach the outer ring of muscle, and he didn’t like how Baz scrunched up his face. But a few minutes of clumsy fumbling developed into a slow and easy rhythm that had Baz rocking lightly back against him. 

“Tilt your fingers up,” Baz said, arching his back to pull Simon in deeper. “Yes… fuck… right there, just like that, Simon. Just like…” He broke off on a high pitched moan that sent a hot bolt of lust shooting through Simon. Baz tilted his head back and writhed on Simon’s fingers. “Oh fuck yes. No… wait, stop, stop, stop,” he gasped, kicking out at Simon. Simon immediately pulled his fingers out of the slick heat, worried he’d hurt Baz in some way.

But Baz spread his legs wider, babbling, “You. I want you in me now. Your cock. Fuck me, Simon. You have to fuck me. Now.” He pulled Simon down for a filthy kiss, rolling his hips to rub his rock hard cock against Simon’s belly.

“Wait, let me…” Simon had to sit up, to see what he was doing. “I need more—” his words cut off as his magic responded to his need, slicking his fingers once again. He rubbed the slick along his sensitive cock, licking his lips nervously. “Okay here goes. Tell me if it hurts.”

Great snakes, Simon couldn’t wait until they’d done this enough times that these things came more easily. It felt like an eternity before he was seated fully, and another eternity before he found a rhythm and angle that made Baz moan as loudly as his fingers had. 

Each thrust, each responding moan, each desperate calling of his name sent arousal swirling hotter and faster through Simon. His magic tumbled into the fray, melding with adrenaline and arousal, burning him from the inside until he thought he’d go up in flames, taking Basil along with him.

“Simon, Simon, Simon,” Baz chanted. “Your magic… let it go… now… let it…” His breath seared Simon’s cheek and his fingers dug into Simon’s hair, holding him close. His legs wrapped so tightly around Simon, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

And so it was no effort at all for Simon to let loose of the slippery hold on his magic, and pour it into Baz. The heat of it spread from everywhere they touched, and flushed Baz’s skin a honey gold colour. A wild cry broke from Baz’s lips as his whole body tensed against Simon. He rocked hard and fast, coming in hot spurts between them, his moans echoing in Simon’s ear and driving Simon over the edge right along with him. He collapsed, completely spent and sweaty, on Baz, cradled in his arms.

“My Simon,” Baz whispered so softly, Simon almost didn’t hear it. Perhaps it was just the magic continuing to flow between them, and not really a sound at all. He closed his eyes and let his heightened senses memorise the warmth of every piece of Baz tangled up with him.

Baz continued his soothing words. Words that should have no magic at all. 

“ ** _Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love._** ”

And yet in this moment, they were made of magic and every word had its own special power that sunk deep into Simon’s core, becoming part of his very being.

“My Simon.”

\--------  
\--------

“It’s time to admit defeat,” Penelope said with a huff. “There just isn’t enough written in the Record.” 

Simon patted her hand sympathetically, knowing how much it cost her to say such a thing out loud. “That’s okay, we can be done for the day,” he said and began gathering the newspapers and notes scattered on the library table. 

“Oh, well if we’re done for the day…” Baz nudged Simon’s ankle. “Want to go for a walk?”

Simon rested his hand on Baz’s wrist and let a dollop of magic sink into his skin. “Like yesterday?”

Baz sighed heavily. “If that’s what you’re thinking, maybe just back to our room then, yeah? I don’t think the dryads want another show.”

Penny snorted and rolled her eyes at them, while Simon blushed. How was he to know the dryads would show up at such an inopportune time?

“Give me a minute to change plans with Dev and Niall and I’ll be ready to go.” Baz squeezed Simon’s fingers and hurried across the library to where his two best friends were studying.

“I cannot believe the turnaround in you two this past week,” Penny said, shaking her head. “Truly unbelievable.”

Simon grinned and gave a half shrug, “We’re still working it out… but it’s hard to hold onto all that anger when…”

“Please don’t describe the magic sharing to me again.”

Of course she’d been fascinated when she first heard him mention it, and demanded to see it in action. And then hexed them both when they couldn’t stop kissing as a result. He’d noticed her staring at the black words on her palm more often, and wondered if she was growing to regret her commitment to Micah. 

Simon looked across the library at Baz, leaning coyly over the table and making new plans with Dev and Niall. He subtly shifted his hips back and forth, as though he could feel Simon’s eyes on him. Dev shot Simon a dirty look, which he returned with a V of his fingers and a wicked smile.

“Don’t antagonise him,” Penny chided, gathering her things to leave. “He’s Baz’s cousin and you’re going to see him for the rest of your life.”

“He hates me for all the time Baz spent making me miserable. Said he wasted his childhood on a worthless rivalry. As if he was ever going to do anything great.” Simon made a dismissive sound. He stacked the last of the newspapers together. “I’ll put these away while I’m waiting on Baz. You can go on ahead.”

Penny sighed heavily. “All right. I don’t know where to go from here.”

“We need to ask someone that remembers it. The Christmas hols are coming up, you can ask your parents.”

Penny made a sour face at that. “I don’t know. Speaking of Christmas… Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me? I hate thinking of you all by yourself here.”

“It’s my last Christmas at Watford. I want to savour it.”

“You never spend Christmas at Watford and you’re going to be lonely. If you’re not coming home with me, at least reconsider going home with Baz.”

“Just because he offered doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. His dad didn’t take too kindly to finding out Baz’s soulmate was a bloke, he’s bound to lose his shit completely when he finds out it’s the Mage’s heir. I can’t. It’s too hard on Baz.”

“But he’s going to find out sooner or later…”

“Yeah, and Baz and I just want it to be later. Forget it, it’s a terrible idea. This is too new, we don’t need Malcolm fucking it up worse.” Although he knew he’d miss Baz terribly, they both felt good about the decision to spend the holiday apart. They had the rest of their lives to celebrate holidays together. Missing this one would be fine.

Baz returned then and slipped his hand into Simon’s. “Ready?”

“You two go ahead, I’ll put the newspapers back.” Penny took the stack from Simon and made a shooing motion. “Have fun. Ew, but not too much fun.”

“Come along, Simon,” Baz said pompously, pulling Simon towards the door.

And Simon followed eagerly after his very own heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I made up the French bit because I’m not aware of any CO spells for safe sex. And Baz speaks five languages so it’s likely that he knows of something useful there. And I assume there’s lots of French poetry about “the little death” and if there isn’t, there should be.
> 
> Baz’s spell about love comes from a letter to Ophelia in Hamlet (act II, scene II).


End file.
